A houselift

The house needed a revamping just like her life. All of five years old, it looked lovely when they first moved in. She had taken great care choosing the fixture, every piece of furniture, the lovely stone, glass and wood showcase in the hall, even the ends of the curtain rods were just the right shade. Her curtains were lovely with a rich look – all the shades she had chosen were muted, beige and shades of brown with a little line of gold running wherever she could manage.

Today, the house looks shabby. Crayon drawings and marks are all over the walls interspersed with patches of brown where in spite of her best efforts, the children have managed to stick something nasty, usually chocolate. The sofas are in a pathetic state with the upholstery coming apart and the heavy drapes would do with a thorough cleaning which simply cannot be done at home.

Her mind feels like the house. Once upon a time it sparkled, each facet throwing off a light of varied hue. Now it was badly in need of polish – occasionally a spark would show to remind her of how she used to be. Her thoughts lie scattered like the toys that she keeps picking up. Her smile is as faded as the sofa cushions. Her eyes have long ceased to shine merrily and instead look inward for some kind of solution to her need to clean up her life.

The house can be put to rights with a paint job, new sofas and the threat of capital punishment on any tendency to crayon by the kids. But what of her life? Can one buy new thoughts? Can one mix and match desires with actions? A fresh breeze of air blew in the window making tendrils of her hair tickle her face, teasing out a smile. Why, not? , she thought. Why can’t I think anew, change my mind’s contents to what suits me, why can’t I get the sparkle back in my life? I will simply go ahead and do it all – fix my house, fix my life. I will not be afraid to go far in my bid to find myself – I will not be afraid to go too close either – she smiles as she thinks all this and the day begins to take on a new glow.

waxing

I am a woman who hates waxing. There are many reasons for this aversion. Firstly, it’s painful beyond belief to have someone pull the hair on your arms, legs & worst of all underarms by the roots. Secondly, it’s not cheap. Thirdly, the effects are too transient and the whole exercise has to be repeated regularly. Let me go over my points in more detail.

Experts say enduring pain is a question of mind over matter. If you control your mind, you can control your body and hence intense pain can be blocked even during torture (from accounts of world war prisoners). So I apply this principle diligently to the matter of waxing. I never cry out – I always manage to contain the pain but it still hurts like crazy and that has not changed in the years I have been subjecting myself to this wonderful system of hair removal. The second point is to express my misery at actually having to pay large amounts of money to endure this pain in spite of not being a masochist by any stretch of the imagination. The third point is my real bugbear – this self-induced means of hurting myself and my wallet for the specific purpose of achieving diva-like smooth skin is further compounded by the much-desired smoothness lasting for about two weeks. Worse , then follows a stage where you can see incipient dark beginnings of hair popping all over the place but you can’t do anything about those because they are too small!! And post that, you reach is the ape-look-alike stage by which time you gleefully submit to the waxing yet again.

I must be an incurable optimist. Otherwise why would I do this over and over again with the futile hope of seeing the hair growth diminish and at least after a decade, hope for minimal hair on my arms? The funny thing is that I am no means a person who dresses up royally or spends money on cosmetics. Most things don’t agree with my skin so I leave it as it is. I don’t go into a tizzy over having my hands and feet baby-soft or obsess over whether I have a bag to match ever outfit. This depilatory tendency of mine is just because I like looking and feeling smooth. That surely is not too much to ask of God, is it?

a bit of pain

There is some pain in every life. It is always so. I think that my pain is greater than yours or someone else's but that may not be so - the pain may simply be different. My pain is my son. He is 7 and very cute. He will no doubt grow up to be extremely good-looking. But he loves too much. He has a big heart and is far more childish than acceptable. He does not know how to calibrate his affection or his anger. He talks too little and not all of what he says makes sense. I keep telling him"Speak properly - don't act like a fool - stop doing this". I know it sounds awful. And today he was making such a hue and cry over a missing button that I completely lost it in the morning. I spanked him hard and told him to stop screaming about a goddamn button. And I felt like crap. My mother, the oracle went on and on about how she doesn't know how his future will turn out if I continue like this - how he will never improve if I spank him - how God only knows what will happen to him. I told her he is too dumb to have any future and please keep quiet.Then I apologized to my son and he says " I am sorry Amma" - and we hugged for a long time.

I keep trying to figure out what I did wrong with him. I have been too impatient but would that cause hyperactivity or a lack of speaking ability ? Maybe - I don't really know. What I do know is that I long for a day I can leave him on his own with the knowledge that he can take care of himself completely.I wonder why I can't accept him as he is instead of looking at him as a walking reminder of how I failed as a mother. How do I explain that I am angry at myself for failing him and I can't face him because I can't face myself?

Complexed

The women in this complex give me a complex. I have no clue how most of them seem well-informed on the most inane means by which to waste money. I had to attend a birthday lunch of a neighbor yesterday and while she is very down-to-earth, most of the rest of the guests were of a species that can best be described as the version 1.1 of the female since the basic version which I belong to needs to get too many upgrades before qualifying for 1.1 status. These women don't just get clothes stitched, they get them custom-made - hence they don't go to tailors but to designers :-(. They also have impeccably neat homes whereas mine resembles a painter's dream (drug-induced!) and would put Salvador Dali to shame. My kids have actually destroyed the walls (its not like I have not tried stopping them but live-in maids when I was working did the trick - what have they got to lose if the kids want to crayon the walls to death?) and I don't allow any of my actual friends to come home for sheer shame. Back to female version1.1 - they talk about manicures, pedicures, all kinds of waxing and blueberry cheesecake (I love that part :-)) and of course sex. It would have been fine if they just came out and talked about sex directly but its kind of oblique and pops up in unwarranted moments. As in "you have a cold? - is your husband back from his trip to ’x’ (take your pick - London, Paris, Bangkok, New York...) - well, then go have sex - I guarantee your cold will not last the night”. You get my drift? I have to mention here that I did not make up the aforementioned conversation at all - it actually happened! The only thing I've learned from this is that 1.1 is definitely not backward compatible - I feel like a complete freak but on the bright side look at what I get to write!

mornings in Kerala

The very air in Kerala is soft and lazy. The countryside is always sleepy. A number of men will be sitting idle at every bus-stop and tea-shop that you see. They will watch you with disinterested expressions – that is unless you are a relatively okay-looking woman in which case they will ogle you mercilessly even when you are covered from top to toe. The fragrance of fish cooking in coconut oil combines with the smell of wood smoke creating a very heady combination (at least to my senses). You will hear snatches of music being played through loudspeakers in front of temples or maybe the sound of a scratchy radio pouring out of a barber shop which where all the men go for a bit of political gossip which happens to be the mainstay of men in Kerala. You will also see so much greenery that your eyes are spoilt for choice. The sun’s rays beating down will be mitigated by their passage through coconut fronds leaving you with pleasant warmth and plenty of dappled shade to walk in. You unconsciously smile and relax and breathe deeply.

My palm tree

The window where I sit when at work at home looks out onto the front lawn which has a huge palm smack in the middle. Its a young growing palm, very beautiful in a prickly kind of way. To me it always looks happy. Its leaves look like fans and are always turned to the sun. It waves its arms about happily with every passing breeze and goes positively bonkers when the wind and rain lash it . Sometimes I just sit and sip some tea nad watch the palm and it has a very soothing effect - if I ever write that novel of mine I will dedicate it to my very own palm tree :-)

How does one relax? I can never let go of whatever it is that's keeping me in knots to relax completely. I jsut got a massage and am feeling rather drowsy but all through the massage the only thing I was thinking of was how odd it felt to be lying down with too little on. I was too conscious and couldn't relax sufficiently for the massage to be of much benefit. I have often wondered what is it that makes me hold tight to inhibitions instead of letting go - is it the lack of trust in others or some deep seated insecurity within me that doesn't want any else to see a weak or less than perfect side? This affects almost every aspect of my life - and I wonder how can I be free of this desire to be perfect or at least of the shame I feel in being less than perfect